


The Smile

by Sp00py



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Blood, Fear, Gen, Gore, Medical Play, Mutilation, Torture, Wetting, a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: An alternate ending to “The Boy Wander” where things go a little less well for our intrepid hero. He finds himself trapped with Screwball Jones half-way across the galaxy, and Dr. Jones has plans for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sprucing up and moving shit over to here from [spoopywander](http://spoopywander.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, since its post structure for text is abysmal. Mind the warnings. They're there for a reason. Story based off of [this pic](http://spoopywander.tumblr.com/post/146042683999/t-h-e-h-e-r-o-u-nmas-k-e-d).

Wander had found a hard-to-reach niche behind a pipe to hide in, striped cape drawn tightly around himself, hat pulled down over his bruised and tear-reddened eyes. He flinched at the painfully bright flash of a camera bulb and turned away from the looming crescent that was Dr. Screwball Jones. He could still feel the crook around his neck that had snatched him right off of Sylvia’s back before the ship rocketed away in an unstable, spiraling arc across the galaxy.

Wander didn’t know where they’d wound up, as he’d been more focused on getting out of the grasp of Screwball’s mustache. He’d not been able to escape, only delay the inevitable by tucking himself away in his little corner.

The sound of a photograph flapping back and forth caused him to peek over his shoulder. Screwball seemed more interested in the photo he’d snapped than Wander, so Wander began to slowly wedge himself behind the pipe, where he hoped to slither toward the barely patched hole Sylvia had punched in the side of Screwball’s ship.

Feathers danced around the ship as they burned off the remnant energy of the tickle machine, slowly coming to rest on the ground in a downy haze like snow. Some fluttered their way over to him, and Wander tried valiantly to blow them anywhere else. But whether because of the energy or the buildup of static his dense fur and cape were causing, they kept gravitating toward him.

Wander giggled.

Oh no.

Screwball’s manic, crackling voice froze any further laughter no matter how the feathers brushed at Wander. “Oh, all this _egg_ citement almost made me forget!” A hand made of thick, long hairs wrapped around Wander’s leg and began to pull.

Wander grabbed at the pipe, claws screeching across the metal, but it was a losing battle. “Screwball!” he demanded, voice still low and pitched for absolutely no nonsense. “Let me go!”

“You’re more flighty than I’ve feather seen you,” Screwball said, getting his other hand on Wander’s arm. A quick yank and Wander was hoisted up to eye-level. Feathers still clung and shivered on his fur like bugs. A mechanical hand came out of Screwball’s hat and yanked off Wander’s own hat, leaving him no longer Wander the superhero, but just Wander who had a towel tied around his neck. Screwball regarded the wriggling nomad silently for a moment, then said, “You don’t seem happy.”

“Of course – hah–  I’m not!” Wander squeaked in his normal voice, untying the cape from around his neck and throwing it at Screwball. It hit him on his glasses, then draped over his large, bright pink nose. “You – heheh – you kidnapped me! Agh, get these things off me!” He began to struggle harder, free hand batting at the feathers on him.

“No, no, no! Don’t get your feathers in a ruffle, Wander! You don’t need less, you need more,” Screwball said with conviction. “You’ll see.”

Wander wasn’t quite sure why he could never escape Screwball as easily as any other villain he’d come across, but something about the clown-like man seemed to completely cancel all his luck, all his good happenstance. Sylvia might have thought Screwball was a joke villain, a one-off that Wander was too serious about, but it wasn’t Screwball’s silly schemes that scared Wander, it was that he _could_ capture him.

Wander couldn’t go through this again.

“Screw– Dr. Jones, please!” he said as Screwball took him over to a smaller, auxiliary glass bowl full of swirling, freshly charged feathers. “That’s not gonna make me happy!”

“Sure it will, Wander. You’ll be feeling better than feather in no time.”

“You already used that pun,” Wander couldn’t help but point out. Hopefully, it threw Screwball off enough that he’d loosen his grip.

They stared silently at each other for a moment, then Screwball tossed Wander into the bowl. Before he could leap for the door, it sealed. “There are only so many feather-specific puns in the universe, Wander. I guess we’ll have to _egg_ spand into new territory later.”

Wander beat his hands against the glass as the feathers engulfed him. He tried to stifle his laughter but was soon doubled over, howling. Unlike Sylvia, Wander was ticklish almost everywhere. He could already feel his abdominal muscles cramping as more and more laughter spilled forth. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he felt something warm soak into his underwear. Wander flushed and sank to the floor, one hand pressing his fur skirt down, the other trying to smother his laughter as though that would put any less pressure on his bladder.

“See? You’re already laughing at my jokes again!”

Wander shook his head, unable to speak as another cascade of giggles broke free. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or piss himself, or both.

Wander clawed at the glass. “Pl-please, Screwball. I can’t… I can’t breathe,” he gasped out between fits. “H-help. Plea…please…” Soon he found it too difficult to form even the barest of protests. Warm pee trickled between his legs, soaking into his fur and stinging his nose with the faint, sharp smell.

Screwball floated in front of the bowl, his perpetual smile big and white in the black haze growing on the edge of Wander’s vision. He was saying something, but Wander couldn’t make it out anymore. He was suffocating on his own laughter.

He slumped against the cool surface of the glass, shoulders heaving, chest aching, and soon everything went dark.

Wander came to on a cold, metal table with his arms and legs strapped down. Everything hurt, and he had a crust around his eyes from crying and an embarrassing stiffness to the fur at his groin, but thankfully nary a feather was to be seen. He let out a sigh of relief.

A cursory tug of his wrist told him he couldn’t get out of the bindings, though they looked exactly like the ones Hater used.

“Don’t you feel better?” Screwball asked.

Wander twisted in his grips, but cringed at the pain that shot through his stomach at the movement and quickly gave up. Every muscle in his gut felt like it’d been pummeled by Sylvia. He coughed a little, then took a deep breath. “Y-yeah, I do,” he said, putting on a watery smile for the doctor.

One of Screwball’s hands rose toward his eyes, and he flinched, squeezing them shut. A warm, damp cloth was pressed to one, then the other, gently wiping them clean of the tear-stained residue and soothing some of the swelling from their earlier fight. Wander swallowed a yelp as the cloth wiped at his thighs, then higher, and he discovered that Screwball had removed his underwear. Screwball cleaned him with a professional brusqueness and tossed the cloth away.

Then a hand was stroking his cheek, and Wander opened his eyes.

Screwball’s toothy grin seemed less manic, and he wasn’t spitting out any puns or jokes. He was just… petting Wander.

“Hey, buddy,” Wander tried in this moment of calm. “How about you let me go, and we can get to makin’ folks happy?”

Screwball’s hand stilled in his fur, then he was slapping the table right next to Wander’s head, uproarious laughter deafening in his earhole. “Oh hohohoh! Let you – hahah – let you go! That’s a great one, Wander!” The laughter stretched on and on. Wander’s forced smile slipped.

The laughter cut off, and Screwball leaned on the table. “But seriously – heheh – no. You, my orange little friend, need an attitude adjustment before we can do that.”

“M’ attitude’s fine.”

Fingers caught the edges Wander’s lips as soon as the words left his mouth and stretched them painfully up into a bared-tooth grin. “If your attitude was fine, your face would be making this expression!” Screwball said. Suddenly he yanked down, pulling a cry from Wander. “But it’s making this one instead.” His fingers disappeared, leaving Wander to try and lick away the sensation of them. “See the problem?”

Okay, so playing into Screwball’s mad little games wasn’t going to work. And trying to explain what was so wrong with his methods had never worked before – Wander doubted it’d start today. So he needed another approach.

“What were you thinkin’?” Wander asked while Screwball consulted a table he couldn’t see.

Screwball turned back around with a pair of purple-handled scissors held up. They were rounded on the ends – safety scissors. “Easiest way to get you to smile!”

Any pretense of going along immediately evaporated as Screwball approached. Wander knew him well enough that he didn’t have to explain what he planned to do. Wander began to twist, wrists rubbing raw on his restraints. “No, wait! I’ll smile! See?” He gave a great big grin, though it looked more like a grimace with his eyes wide and fearful.

“No, no, no,” Screwball sang, large hand easily wrapping around Wander’s head, fingers wedging into his jawline to pry his mouth open. “No reason to get _cut up_ about this. Just gonna have to _grin_ and bear it!” His chortling made the scissors rattle alarmingly. The half shoved into Wander’s mouth knocked against his teeth and zinged him.

Screwball squeezed the scissors shut. Wander screamed as the blunt edges dug into his skin. Screwball leaned into the scissors with a nasal grunt, and soon Wander tasted blood on his tongue. The scissors could only go so far, so Screwball needed a few more forceful snips to curl Wander’s smile up almost entirely to the juncture of his jaw. It wasn’t a pretty nor an even cut.

Wander’s breath hitched and bubbled in the back of his mouth, and salty tears stung at the jagged flaps of skin. Screwball’s hand left him, as did the pressure of the scissors in his mouth. Wander slumped back against the table, felt blood trickling down the side of his head and seeping into his fur.

Screwball grabbed his chin, earning another strangled cry as he twisted Wander’s head to the side, eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. He tsked, then left Wander who could barely make out his bright, yellow body through the haze of tears sitting in his eyes. Wander tried his best to spit out the blood that settled heavy and metallic in the back of his throat, but every slight movement sent a new stab of pain up the side of his face.

When Screwball returned, Wander tried to blink away the tears to see what new thing he’d taken in hand. “D-don’t,” he begged, voice a little slurred as his mouth refused to cooperate with its new shape. Screwball braced the staple gun against Wander’s lower jaw, and with a sharp click that belied the pressure behind the staple, pinned the cut skin down.

The stabbing pain was overwhelmed by a bone-deep throb as the staple dug into his jaw. Wander whined, but all Screwball did was wipe at his fresh tears and dab at some of the blood dripping through his fur, tidying up his workspace before he positioned the staple gun again.

Wander stopped responding after the third staple. He focused on his own, stuttery breath, wet and labored, the rush of blood pounding in his ear-holes echoing the panicked flutter of his heartbeat.

Screwball observed his work with a critical gaze, then, after deciding it was good, tilted Wander’s head and began work on the other side. Wander cried quietly, but without force. Screwball’s figure crowded his blurry vision, a mishmash of vivid colors cut through with black shapes. Wander felt like he was underwater, drowning slowly on viscous, iron-tinged blood. Screwball’s continuous chatter and raucous laughter were distorted and distant despite the constant flashing movement of his white, white teeth slowly enveloping Wander’s vision.

“There we go!” Screwball announced, floating back and giving Wander some space. He wiped his mustache hands on the striped cloth that had earlier been Wander’s cape, smearing blood, spit, and tears across it. Wander’s gaze trailed over the ship’s interior beyond Screwball, seeking anything else but Screwball to look at. A window lay just across from him, starlight splintering in his watery gaze, colorful planets blurry and hard to identify.

Wander focused intently on that glimpse of space as Screwball wiped around the tender, torn skin and applied antiseptic and bandages. He loosened the shackles and caught Wander’s limp form in his arms. Screwball cradled him against the curve of his lower body and made no attempt to turn Wander’s attention back to him. Instead, he floated over to the window with him.

Wander’s reflection stared back at him, eyes red and bleary, fur sticking out all over, white gauze circling his head and rough in his mouth. His lips were forcibly twisted up into a smile that disappeared into the line of the bandages, exposing his teeth and tongue. The pain was all the way down his neck, now, muscles tense as though expecting more harm to come. More would come, Wander was sure, but he didn’t have the energy to care, and even the pain was becoming, if not less, at least all encompassing enough as to seem normal. He slumped against the cool, slick body of Dr. Screwball, who brought a hand up to gently pet his head.

Together they stared at the stars.


End file.
